Page 37 of Fall Apart

I put my keys on the hook, just like Clay asked and hang my purse and jacket on the coat rack. It’s quiet except for the crackling of the fire, which seems odd because it’s late, I assumed he would be in bed, and he doesn’t seem like the type to leave a fire going all night.

I step around the corner quietly into the living room and to my surprise, Clay is there. I pull my hand to my chest, startled to see him. And boy, do I see him. He’s sitting in the leather chair next to the fire with Ani curled up on the dog bed at his feet. My eyes move up from Ani, across Clay’s bare legs, one crossed over the other, his scars and his thigh tattoos peeking out from under his gym shorts. He’s holding a book, his tattooed hands delicately flipping the pages, his green eyes framed by black heavy rimmed glasses, and the fire is flickering against his short, dark, inky hair.

I stand there, hoping he won’t notice and watch him for a second. A line in the book must be funny, because he laughs, a real laugh - not like the little chuckles or snorts I hear from him. His dimples pop and he actually looks like the twenty-eight year old he should be, not the hardened man that he is.

Seriously, where is the tree in Wyoming that the Chapman men grow on?

A giggle escapes my lips and I rush to cover my mouth. Ani’s ears tilt to me but he doesn’t move from his bed. Clay looks over and the content look on his face morphs into his usual scowl.

“Were you just standing there watching me?” he asks, turning his attention back to his book. “Fucking creepy.”

I’m glad to see we’re back to this Clay, moody and broody.

“I had to see it for myself. The dark and mysterious Clay Chapman, sitting by the fire and reading smutty romance books alone at night.” I sit down in the other chair, on the opposite side of thefireplace. “And what’s with the glasses? Aren’t you too young for reading glasses? I didn’t have you pegged for being the glamorous, fake lenses type.”

He glares at me over the book and I have to admit, the glasses look good on him. “I wear contacts. It started with racing and moguls because glasses never work well with ski goggles. Then when I got into construction, it was easier with the safety glasses. It just became a routine. I take them out at night and to read to give my eyes a break.”

I nod and settle into the chair, prompting a sigh of defeat from him. He dog ears a page and sets the book in his lap. “You’re welcome to hang with me tonight. But if you’re going to, I really want to finish this chapter. So read or yoga. Pick one.”

I mock gasp at him. “Are you inviting me to spend time with you willingly? And did you just dog ear a page?” I clutch my hand to my chest. “How dare you assault a shelf trophy like that?”

He rolls his eyes and groans. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Fine. Yoga.” I bounce out of the chair and head to the basket along the windows where we’ve been keeping our yoga mats. “You love giving me shit for my matching yoga outfits, but look who’s already prepared.”

I roll out the mat, take off my shoes, and settle into the start of my routine. I will begrudgingly admit that having Clay help me the last few days has been helpful. I can already feel a difference from three straight days of this routine.

And maybe it was the happy hour drinks, maybe it’s the cute dog curled up on the dog bed, or maybe it’s the warmth of the crackling fire, but I feel so relaxed here right now. I breathe deep, exhaling as I go into a downward dog.

My brief moment of bliss is interrupted by the sound of Clay clearing his throat. “You’re loud.” I glare at him, noticing he’s doing the same over his book.

“Is that a complaint?”

“No, just an observation.”

“I can go do it in my room if you’d prefer that.” I start to stand, but he sets down his book.

“No. It’s fine. Just never realized how loud yoga is when you’re listening to someone do it.”

My lips curve into a smile. “Well, no one has ever called me quiet.” I wink back at him.

He rolls his eyes, but I don’t miss that his cheeks go pink and his throat bobs. “I bet.”

Ok. Maybe Grace was right. This isn’t the rough, harsh man I expected.

“You know, you’re not so bad,ClaytonChapman,” I tease playfully.

“Please don’t call me Clayton.” His eyes are pleading, almost frighteningly soft compared to what I’m used to seeing. This look flat out catches me off guard.

“I’m sorry. I won’t. I just thought-” he grabs his book and stands, with me still on the ground.

“It’s fine.” He steps over me and walks towards the hall to the bedrooms, stopping to turn back. I hear him let out a long, rough breath. “That’s my full name, but only mom and Kayleigh would call me that. It’s not your fault, you didn’t know. I’m just tired. Goodnight, Lizzy.”

He turns again and heads to his room. My heart sinks at his admission while I watch his tall frame disappear from view. I feel like a jerk. I thought it was ok if Kayleigh was teasing him with it, but I didn’t know that it was his mom’s nickname for him. I guess they’ve known each other longer, since before that accident and he’s ok with her calling him that.

CHAPTER 18

CLAY

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